


i'd rather die terrified than live forever

by preromantics



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Get up in the morning, make coffee, make music, forget to shower, repeat.</i> In which Brendon goes solo, exploring a different -- au -- band break up scenario.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd rather die terrified than live forever

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ: 7/27/09.

Nothing makes sense in the studio, sometimes, when Brendon wakes up face down on the controls, deep red welts in his cheeks. When he figures out a chord progression, or the perfect melody, and he wants to tell someone. He wants to jump and grin and ask what everyone thinks. Except when he looks around, it's only him, in the big studio edition to his Vegas suburban house with it's soundproof walls and curtains that block out everything. No one but him.

Most of the time it makes sense except for where it doesn't, even months in, and he's sitting with two lamps on playing back his own voice again and again, finding himself waiting for outside input that will never come.

Other times, everything falls right into place. He can do it, this, alone. There is no one else to fight with, just the piano and the guitars and tracking and looping and Brendon is making something great, he really is, and its all on his own.

Now, Brendon wakes up thinking of music, even after during his first burst of creativity, seven months after the official break up, when he realized nothing would fall back into place. Everyone had become a separate puzzle piece, that, over time had melted and distorted with all the friction and the heat, the disappointment and the fighting, and maybe the good times, too.

The decision to release a solo album was more of a falling into place after the realization.

The words come easy when Brendon finally decides to write his thoughts down on paper. It's a release in many ways, and Brendon ends up feeling lighter than he has in months.

It feels new, sort of, writing for himself and no one else, and maybe at first Brendon doesn't expect it to turn into anything. It feels too strange, too foreign to turn music all of the sudden from a group effort to a singular one. Like betrayal.

The songs that end up in his notebooks are surprisingly cheerful, and Brendon thinks maybe his subconscious understands that all the memories he has, three albums and touring and friendship and everything ever, they mean something even more than the more self-conscious bitterness Brendon tries to mold everything into.

(It wasn't his fault, it wasn't anyones fault, it was. It was a lot of things. sometimes things just change and change isn't always good but it can be and Brendon is going to make sure this new change is. Even though now, nine months after, the only thing Brendon looks forward to is going for groceries at Whole Foods once a week. Then it's back to the studio to write something he thinks of on the road, in the silence surrounding his black leather seats and the tinted windows of his car.)

When it finally comes down to the last few songs, all these bits and pieces of Brendon's soul floating around the studio, he has to share them. No one really knows what he's been doing all this time, since Brendon has had shaky connections at best with everyone he used to think he knew. When it comes to showing his work, Brendon ends up with this all encompassing fear that no one would even care, anymore.

-

Brendon calls Patrick, first. He's friendly enough, and doesn't sound suprised when Brendon ends up rushing out what he's been doing. It seems strange to Brendon to think that maybe other people were thinking about him during his self-imposed type of isolation.

Patrick offers to come and produce (Brendon asked in a round-about way that probably didn't qualify as actually asking,) and Brendon assures him that it's nothing, really, just thoughts on paper, words turned into music but nothing special.

When Patrick comes, Brendon fears the comprehension his face shows on every track, like all of Brendon's emotions are out on the table in his lyrics and the timbre of his voice. Suddenly plans of releasing the record, seem dangerous, almost.

It was never like this, before. Sure there were nerves with releasing an album, but as a band, and when Brendon wrote, he didn't feel so vulnerable. Maybe it's because he had the band, Ryan (Ryan), by his side, but now it's a singular effort and there isn't that shoulder to lean on. Brendon is fucking nervous.

-

A month after Patrick comes to town, Brendon has a full fledged album in his hands, produced and mixed and connected to album art and booklets and Pete is on the phone daily talking about press and promotion. And, well, Brendon's not quite sure what to do with all it.

Ironically, or maybe not so, Brendon chooses the date of the bands one year anniversary of the official break up to release his album. It's simply titled his own name, because maybe Brendon's life is just that, now. A year of basic solitude and now everything is relatively simple.

Get up in the morning, make coffee, make music, forget to shower, repeat. The thrum of interaction with more people than Brendon can count is exhilarating, in comparison, as the release date and subsequent party come closer. It's almost enough to fight down the nerves about seeing RyanSpencerJon and hearing about their new lives (they all have lives, they are all settled, and yet Brendon still feels lost, even a year after) and talking to them for more than a drawn-out phone call that Brendon always fees awkward during.

Jon has something new going, Brendon knows, some music project in Chicago with his old group of friends that hasn't quite gotten off the ground. Jon's life will always involve music, Brendon thinks, because music to Jon is more than just notes and words and comings-together, it's a lifestyle, it's an adventure.

Spencer still lives not far from Brendon. It had felt good, at first, to be separate, to not meet up and try and live separately, and after that period ended, Brendon never knew how to re-invite himself into Spencer's life. Brendon didn't even find out that Ryan had come to visit for a few weeks two months ago until a week afterwards, by way of a how-are-you-doing-i'm-fine e-mail from Spencer.

Ryan didn't make any point in letting Brendon know he was around, anyway, so. Ryan had relocated to New York City, possibly with plans to re-relocated back to L.A and that's all Brendon has made a point to know.

It's not like there was bad blood between them all, just a growing apart. Brendon could (and did, after he fought for a different outcome, even after he seemed to be the only one really fighting) sit around and put blame on everyone for certain things, the tension during the third album, with everyone's influences growing separate, the fact that everyone except Brendon had Someone Else, but really it all became too much.

The big distinction for Brendon, though, as much as he pushed and pulled all the strings that connected the four of them, was that this wasn't a break. It was a break-up. Words were more Ryan's strong point than Brendon's but he knew enough to know that one additional word was just another way of turning everything into an end.

-

Everyone Brendon has ever known is at the record release, except Brendon feels more out of place than he has in while.

He blends into the crowd, among people whose name he can't remember, who stop and congratulate him on the album like it's a big deal. Brendon supposes it is, music is always a big deal; it just doesn't feel like that to him this time around.

Jon seeks Brendon out first, where he's lurking in a corner watching Pete DJ across the room, playing music that is loud. (Brendon distinctly notices the first strains of Nine In the Afternoon at one point, not even a full measure but Pete must re-think and change it, or maybe Brendon is just grasping at straws and memories. The band is here but this is just for Brendon.)

It shouldn't be surprising that Jon looks the same, it's only been a year and Brendon keeps up with the Where-Are-They-Now's that always find their way into his inbox, but it is. More than that, it's comforting when Jon automatically goes in for a hug and doesn't talk about the album in some grand sort of fashion, just smiles enough to make his eyes crinkly at the corners. They end up in a rounded booth that's set aside for just Brendon and whomever he wants, with only a few people and cameras stopping them along the way.

Brendon tried, earlier, to not avidly seek out anyone, but they come by the table in small groups, people on the label and friends alike, all of who Brendon feels oddly guilty about after not bothering to stay in contact with. Jon makes small talk that isn't forced, and Brendon listens to what he's been up to, the music he's also been making until Spencer makes his way over to the table alone, sliding in automatically next to Jon.

Even the sight of Spencer loosens the metaphorical knot in his stomach. Spencer doesn't actually have much to say, and Brendon, as stupid as it seems, has really gotten out of habit of talking much. (Sometimes he wonders what a physiologist would have to say about this year in his life. Sometimes he doesn't even want to think about the habit it's all become.)

The entire room clears out near the time where the album will actually play, something Brendon supposes he has Pete to be thankful for, even though Pete is hardly the one to thank for any quiet whatsoever.

When the album starts playing Brendon almost gets the urge to leave the room, or talk loudly to Spencer and Jon, who are sitting quiet beside him in the little round booth. Brendon knows the music isn't really the type of music people would get up to dance to, but everyone in the room paying attention at once is mostly unnerving.

He shuts his eyes after the first song. In the background the murmurs of people pick up slowly, although not loud enough to mask the music by far. Brendon has heard these songs hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. From their first stage as melodies, or as words, or as a small and brief heart ache. He's heard them before, and now he lets them wash over him, listening in on the snatches to the words of Spencer and Jon beside them, the praise that comes in different forms. Had he been younger, in such need of praise, of people to want him, it would have made him smile ear-to-ear, feeling accomplished. For now, he just lets it all settle in his bones, warm.

When it's all over, Brendon feels a sort of serene rush along his veins. The noise in the room picks up again, Pete is saying something, over and over. There is a mic somewhere, and someone is saying something else, louder. Brendon is pulled up to his feet, and he feels his grin in a sort of detached way.

Out in the middle of the floor, in the middle of the room, with everyone all around, Ryan catches his eye. He looks scared, mouth not quite open as Pete passes a microphone to him, so he can say something.

It seems important, in that one second, like maybe Brendon was doing this -- writing songs and recording an album -- for the sole purpose of -

Ryan holds his gaze, and passes the microphone on, wordlessly. Pete laughs, and it's awkward, as Ryan turns and leaves, shoulders held squared and tense.

No one else seems to notice, really, but the rush of the night vanishes.

Brendon goes home tired, a lunch date with Spencer and movies with Jon on his schedule, and curls around his pillows with the blanket over his head, dreaming of making forts out of the dining room table and sheets from the linen closet. A place to hide.

-

Life, as it does, moves quite languidly. It ebbs and flows, and Brendon has both Island and MGM after him like hawks, like this is some sort of comeback. Eventually, (after some serious thinking about his stance as an artist, some serious not-thinking about certain people, and some not-so-serious dancing around his living room to Britney Spears,) Brendon signs with Pete. It seems like a step backwards, in a sense, or like some sort of betrayal to the band that he has done it, but Pete grins as wide as anything, toddler pressed against his hip as Brendon grins back and signs the contracts.

Obviously the next step that makes sense is touring, and Brendon subsequently feels nervous and excited. He opens second to Fall Out Boy, which, according to Jon via phone is laughable as anything, and Spencer texts him periodically with memories from their first opener.

It's surprisingly comfortable to fall into a new routine, the struggle to get everything right, the decisions about presentation that come before touring. What isn't as easy to get used to is the looming date of his first show.

His first show alone. It is foreign in ways he understands and monumental in ways he doesn't.

The album was very obviously a success, based on it's weeks floating at upper-bottom of the Billboard charts, and near the top of the indie ones. Sometimes, Brendon thinks about the honesty he put in his songs, the way the words came out bitter and he twisted them into something different, something less real. He wonders if people can tell, can separate what is real to what he molded and changed into something else.

-

It is terrifying to walk out on stage. There is a little stool in the background, a mic stand, and a piano to the side. Since Brendon recorded everything himself, and let it be natural instead of looping music on top of other music, he has no need for any accompaniment. He is completely alone on stage, naked and bare beside the glinting metal of the microphone and the shine on the housing of the piano.

Playing is amazing, a natural high he hasn't felt in so long that once its over Brendon almost feels like jumping out of his own skin. He practically bounds of the stage, bangs sweaty and sticking to his forehead, chest tight.

He jumps around the corner, ready to grab whoever is nearest and celebrate and instead comes face to face with Ryan.

Ryan is just standing there, looking vaugely shocked. After a second, he grins, even his eyes do.

Brendon breathes shallowly, the moment briefly suspended, before Pete comes past, band in tow. He's talking on a different frequency, clapping both Brendon and Ryan on the back, and Patrick shoots Brendon a wry smile.

The screams from the crowd behind them are deafening, and Brendon laughs, soundless. Ryan edges past him to watch from the sidelines.

There are no words, but something has shifted, just in a fraction, and maybe, just maybe, Brendon dares to hope.

-

Brendon scouts for Ryan when the first show wraps, backstage, but he seems to have left. He tries not to be disappointed, and, after all the time that has passed, it almost seems easy.

People tell him things, with big smiles and substance-induced shine to their eyes. It's all grand, again, and Brendon still feels out of place, despite the show having gone so well.

He goes to the bus before the real partying begins, falling sleeping while tapping melodies out on the wall of his bunk.

-

Ryan shows up at more shows, too, but never sticks around. Not enough to talk, anyway. Brendon catches him in Santa Monica, Portland, Chicago, New York, and a few other staple cities. It seems strange, that Ryan has that sort of disposable income to follow the tour around. He probably could have even gotten a job on the tour.

Brendon catches him on sidestage numerous times, and once, for a brief moment in New York, thinks he might see Ryan singing along. Singing along to Brendon's own lyrics.

It's not until the very last show that Brendon finds Ryan backstage. He's just sitting on a stack of crates off stage, away from the front where other people are gathered. He waves, small, and Brendon goes over, setting his acoustic against the wall a little bit away.

He wants to say something, anything, that would sum up over a year of complete silence between them. Wants to say something about the amount of times he wrote emails and incoherent texts and even hand-written letters that never found their way to Ryan.

Instead, they both sit awkwardly, contemplating each other. The bass from the show beside them pushes along the floorboards, pulses in Brendon's skin.

If he's being honest, even sitting this close the thrum in his bones that isn't from the bass is evident, the longing, the fact that he missed Ryan. It has been part of his denial all this time, coupled with wanting to fix what couldn't be fixed.

He opens his mouth, wordless, to express something, except. Except Ryan is already there, a crushing force on his mouth, unexpected but not foreign in the least.

-

It's a hotel night, surprisingly, thankfully, ironically. Ryan's skin looks just as pale as he remembers, and in a twisted way Brendon wants more than he thinks he has in a while. They still haven't talked, said something about what and why.

It doesn't matter, though, it doesn't even matter that Brendon can barely feel anything but the ache in his chest, tight but maybe a little bit for hope. This means something, this means nothing.

Ryan looks almost frightening when he comes undone, fighting back low noises in his throat and arching his neck back.

It's weird, surreal -- they've done this, they did this, and they still haven't talked about what went down and what happen and why this night, what changed.

There are so many things, really, that Brendon looses strength to move, still collapsed half on top of Ryan and coming down, hair wet and matted on his neck. It's a strange feeling, maybe he's shaking -- no, that's too much, he's loose, the air conditioning in the hotel room running like sparks over his skin, bare and damp.

Neither of them say anything. What can they say? They are maybe a little bit hopeless, but Brendon is, if anything, definitely a hopeful person. Or, he used to be. Generally these days Brendon still isn't sure what type of person he is.

He stays up all night, face buried in Ryan's neck, and Ryan breathes in and out in a measured sort of way while Brendon just shifts the sheets between his fingers.

It's dawn when Ryan stirs again, blinking open his eyes easily to Brendon's face, soft in the light and Brendon knows he wasn't asleep, anyway, at least not a real sort of sleep.

"Hey," Ryan says, soft, "I really like your album."

Brendon frowns. They're still so tucked together, all bare skin and a thin sheet twisting around with no sense of purpose.

"Don't worry, though," Ryan says, after only a short beat, "I think it'll all work out."

Brendon's relaxes, a little, although he's not sure why. Maybe just Ryan's words, or his tone, or his hand at the back of Brendon's neck, just massaging gently. Whatever it is, it calms him, somehow

"Yeah," he says, "maybe." And they sleep.


End file.
